Of King's and Thieves
by Voice of the Shadow Realm
Summary: A young Pharaoh attempts to carry on his father's peaceful reign but one survivor of a secret massacre could destroy a whole dynasty. Can peace really be peace when it is accomplished by bloodshed.
1. Destroyed

**Author's Note:**

Hey all Long time no see, I've been working like a dog and moving isn't always a good thing.

Well I'm finally back and have a few new stories to tell.

So let's kick it off with this one.

**Disclaimer:**

I own not a lot in this world and Yu-Gi-Oh is on that list. I do however own these socks... no, wait, these aren't mine either.

**Of King's and Thieves.**

**Chapter. 1**

A wave of humid heat rolled across the desert sands - rufusing to give way to the cooler night air. There was no moon that night, but the stars filled the entire sky.

Kajan nocked an arrow in his bow and drew back his arm until his lips brushed the bowstring in a tender kiss. His brow furrowed and a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. His biceps stood hrd and proud under the strain. "Light it now Kastros!" he hissed. He clenched his teeth and worked his jaw stiffly.

Kastros lowered the tourch to the alcahol soaked cloth wrapped around barbed arrowhead, the moment the rag roared to life Kajan loosed the fire arrow.

Immediately the sky was ablaze with the light and warmth of dawn, and the peace was broken by the sweet hum of bowstrings as all twenty archers loosed a volley of fire arrows deep into the sleeping village of Kul Elna. As the thatched roof's spluttered and crakled into life and the air quickly filled with thick acrid smoke, the first cry of alarm rose from the village.

Kajan lowered his bow and nodded a silent order to Kastros who gave a wild whoop of excitement and gathered up the reins. "For Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen. Devine King of this very Egypt. And for his son, the Crowned Prince Atem. May they live forever!"

"Bak-her! Bak-her Great Pharaoh!"

Kastros lashed the reins the horses sleek backs, raising thick whelts where the rawhide struck, and they plunged forward. The chariot lurched after them as Kajan headed the charge. Before they even reached the edge of the village, Kajn could smell the sharp stink of fear and taste the metallic tang of panic. And he relished it.

"Keep them running steady." he bellowed over the roar of the rushing wind and drew his spear from the chariots weapon bin.

"Of course, Brother."

Kajan leaned over the chariot's side, ready to skewer any and all who strayed too close. Panicked villagers ran blindly into the path of the chariot fleet and squealed, like rabbits in tha jaws of the desert jackels, ans they were cut down. Then an arrow whistled past Kajan's ear and clattered at his feet, a second struck the side of the chariot.

Suddenly the left side horse screamed and collapsed to its knees, an arrow protruding from the poor beasts spine, dragging its team-mate down with it. Both Kajan and Kastros were flung from the chariot and somersaulted through the air. Kajan struck the hardpacked sand with a force that should have crippled him and rolled to a sitting position. He could do nothing but watch helplessly as his brother hit the ground with the sickening sound of snapping vertebrea and pray that the impact had killed him.

Shoving himself to his feet, Kajan limped back to the fallen chariot. The un-injured horse was on its feet, panic showing in its eyes and foam dribbling from its muzzle. Kajan grabbed a discarded long sword, hefted himself up and straddled the horses back. It stamped and pawed anxiously at the sand, still teathered to its fallen team-mate. He pulled the sword from its scabboard, the bronze blade whispered aginst the leather, and with a flick of his wrist the animal was freed from the rawhide teathers of the chariot.

"Hi-up!" he cried and dug his heels into the animals flanks.

He felt the hooves pounding the dry earth beneath his broken body as Kajan spurred the horse deeper into the stricken village, cutting down peasents as he charged onwards. Kastros's breath sent up little dust clouds as he snorted like a terrified horse, his nostrils flaring as he breathed. His eyes rovved and the whites showed in agony.

He was going to die.

He knew that.

Soon th scavengers would come to feed from the corpses. He just hoped and prayed to the Gods that he would be dead before they began eating him.

Already the bronze blade had dulled and was stained with blood. Kajan wrapped his left fist in the horses mane and swung his body right, he thrust the blade down, stabbing a young woman between the shoulders as she knelt beside an overturned cart.

Her body convulsed upright, white hair spilling over her shoulders and blue eyes, impossibly wide with surprise and explosive agony. Ikona never saw the face of her attacker. She only knew the searing pain of the blade as it pierced and withdrew from her body with a wet tearing sound. Her body jerked once when the blade slid free and she crumpled face first into the sand.

Huddled beneath the cart a boy, her son, trembled in terror as he watched his mother collapse. Bright lung blood dripped from her lips and rolled into little mud balls as they hit the sand. He raised himself slowly to his hands and knees and began inching toward her.

"Mother?" the child called so softly, he wasn't sure if he had spoken the word aloud or simply screamed it in his mind.

Ikona rolled her eyes to her son. "S-stay hidden, Little one." she breathed so softly the boy had to freeze to hear her. Sand settled on her bloodied lips as sticky crimson fluid continued to seep into her mouth and slowly drown her lungs.

He hesitated. Confusion and horror clouded his rusty eyes.

Ikona's lips quivered beneath the bloody froth bubbling up from her throat. "Don't-" Her eyelids fluttered once. Twice. Then closed.

The child hung his head and felt his throat clog with grief. He gnawed his bottom lip, trying to keep it from trembling, until he tasted blood. In the silence that followed, he lay there, braced and terrified, waiting for the soldiers to return and find him cowering beneath the cart. He felt a tickle beneath his right eye and, as he swiped the back of his hand across his cheek, he already knew what it would be.

Blood.

His blood. He swept his gaze up to the cart above him. A board had come loose and he could see thin, ragged strips of his own flesh caught upon the broken wood.

He didn't know how long he lay there, hidden, cowering beneath the cart, staring into Ikona's dead face, the pit of his stomach ice cold and numb. His chest hollow yet strangely heavy.

Finally the first warming light of dawn peeked over the horizon, chasing away the chill of the night and exposing the full horror of the attack. Slowly he managed to pull his belly from the sand and haul his exhausted body to his mothers side. His eyes hooded and dark with misery, he pushed himself beneath her arm digging and kicking and squirming until he was crushed against her chest.

He closed his eyes. He could cry now; it would be okay. But the tears just would not come.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The boy stirred when the scent of roasted meat filled his mind, his stomach chortled and wheezed. Opening one eye, he found himself bundled in heavy furs and blankets, and staring up at the night sky.

His mind raced, he he couldn't understand what was happening. He rememberedthe soldiers returning to collect the dead and he'd -

His cheeks heated in humiliation.

He had run away. Run away, like a coward.

He had run and run until exhaustion and the heat of the desert had claimed him.

He fought and wriggled his way from beneath the tangle of fur and blankets and, suddenly, tumbled from the mess, thumping onto the hard ground. Pushing himself upright he noticed the bandages on his feet for the first time, the battered and bloodied soles had been cleaned and bound as he'd slept.

Lifting himself to his hands and feet, he crept toward the warmth of the fire and the tantalizing meat tha dribbled its fats into the sizzling flames. Keeping a wary eye on the silloetted shapes of two men as they feasted he crept closer, draggign his belly along the sand.

Just a few feet more.

One man turned sharply and the boy froze, his gut clenched with fear and he flattened himself to the sand. His aged face hardend and he leaned to his companion, murmuring something the boy couldn't make out, the other man turned now and rose to his feet with a groan. Suddenly he towered over the boy and siezed him by the back of his tunic, ignoring the tiny squeak of protest as he swung the boy onto his shoulder as easily as though he weighed nothing.

"Soggy little pup, you?"

He dropped the boy between himself and his companion and close to the fire.

The boy watched with interest as the man broke a chunk of bread from the dry loaf, paused then pushed it into the boys hands and he wasted no time in filling his mouth.

"Easy lad." The younger man scolded gently as he drew his knife and began sawing a slad of meat from the joint. He offered it to the boy; who stared longingly at the dripping meat then to the bread he clung to with both hands, then back to the hot meat, hunger and confusion obvious in his eyes. Refusing to give up the bread and desperatly hungering for the meat, the boy stared helplessly up at the man. He chuckled and tossed the slab onto the animal skin at the boys hip.

He crammed as much bread into his mouth as he could manage and turned, keeping a careful watch on the meat.

"I still say leave him to the desert, Rahemu."

Rahemu lifted his gaze and pierced his older companion with the same golden eyes as a hunting leopard. "He is a small child, Jakhul." Rahemu hissed. "You would sentence him to death?"

"More dead than alive that one when you happened upon him." Jakhul murmured and lifted a wineskin to his lips. "Your woman will not thank you should this one die on you like your ownpup. I say leave him and spare yourself anymore heartache."

Rahemu's mouth set in a hard, thin line, his golden eyes cold and defiant. He turned and watched the boy as he dropped wht was left of his bread and fell upon the meat, smearing his lips and chin with its fats.

"Do you have a name boy?" Rahemu asked gently.

The boy paused from licking the juices between his fingers and carefully studied Rahemu's face. "My mother named me Bakura." he murmered quietly.

"Where is she now?"

"Gone." he murmured miserably. Tears welled in his eyes. "Men came and hurt," his words trembled and his voice escalated as he fought to finish. "She wouldn't get up. She just lay there not moving ang bleeding. Then the men came back and I ran."

Rahemu stared in horror at the young boy, he knew his mother had been hurt but he didn't know she'd been murdered. "Bakura," He said softly. "Your mother is dead."

The boy's lower lip trembled, then threw his head back and howled and sobbed as only a four year old boy could. He was alone and scared and could only think of his mother.

And she was gone.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Sorry guys I noticed I had forgotten a line in the story. Please R&R as I think my writing is very rusty compared to my first fic.


	2. Boys will be Boys

**Author's Note:**

Phew. This is hard work. I adopted three chinhilla's today and i can't think of a final male name. I like wierd and if anyone out there has a suggestion feel free to mail me. Anyhoo you want more story so here you go.

**Chapter. 2**

It wasn't long until Bakura had been accepted into the Assassin's village. And it wasn't long before mischief found the young boy.

The village hid in the shadow's cast by the Pharoah's great kingdom, hiding in plain sight, and most days Bakura would accompany Rahemu into the city for supplies.

A thief is as a thief does, and Bakura was fast learning his nimble fingers and swift feet in his trade. He had just pilfered a few figs and was fleeing from the enraged fruit tender when, from the corner of his eye, he noticed a young boy of a similiar age to himself, watching him with wide eyes full of childish awe. His hair stuck up every which way and he wore a heavy, hooded cloak, which Bakura thought of as odd in the mid-morning heat.

As he passed the boy he turned his head, gave a crooked grin and stuck out his tongue as he tossed a stolen fig to him. Showing off.

The cloaked boy fumbled in catching the fruit, squatting as he rescued it from the dusty street and grinning with an innocence that only a child could possess. Still running, Bakura blindly rounded a cart and thumped straight into Rahemu, who'd materialized seemingly out of nowhere. The man caught the boy by the scruff of his neck. "Why the rush lad?" He smiled but his keen golden eyes were hard as he searched the boys face.

"Hold that hooligan of a pup, Sir!" the fruit tender panted.

Rahemu glanced down at the squirming boy and his shoulders sagged. "What has the boy done against you, Sir?"

"P-pilfering figs from my cart." the fruit tender hunched over his knees, his bloated face red and splotchy from the exercise.

Bakura glared at the tender, then to his absolute astoundment, recieved a cuff to the back of the head from that huge fat hand the tender seemed to own. Rahemu fished a small disk of silver from the purse at his hip and pressed the coin into the mans hand with murmured apologies. With a grunt of thanks and a snappish warning that the next time he caught the boy thieving from his stall he would remove the childs hand, the portly man waddled away. The boy opened his mouth to call a smart remark after him when he recieved a whallop, so hard, he yelped in a mix of pain and shock.

"What is to become of you? Running the streets as one of the thieves? Are you no better than those cowardly Sand Wanderers?"

Bakura lowered his eyes, unable to look Rahemu in the eye. Not for what he had done but because of the disappointment in the man's voice. He lowered himself to his knee and toched the boys shoulder. "Have I not told you, if you want something you have but to ask me?"

Bakura nodded mutely.

"Use your words boy. You are not stupid so do not act it." He snapped

"Yes Sir." the boy murmured. He scanned the crowds and caught a glimpse of the cloaked boy peering nervously from one of the dark nooks that the city offered, and he grinned briefly.

"Now, there are still a few items I need to gather," he glanced dawn at his ward and smiled softly. Fishing in his purse once again, he pressed a little copper coin into the boys had. "Now, get yourself off adventuring." He smoothed down the mess of white hair and turned the boy around with a light tap on the rear. "Be off with you pup. I shall be with the horse," As the boy trotted off, staring in bewieldement at the coin in his palm, Rahemu called after him. "And no more mischief!"

When Bakura neared the other boy he noticed suddenly that, although they were of the same age, he was the taller by at least half a head where the other was more rounded with a healthy layer of puppy-fat that well-fed children often aquire. While Bakura stared at and sized up the other child, the boy held out the fig and grinned shyly, his crimson eyes round as saucers. Bakura reached out his own grubby hand and lifted the fruit, paused and met the nervous gaze, then shook his head, closing the others fingers around it. "For you."

That delighted grin returned and the boy cradled the fruit carefully in his hand, then Bakura lunged, grabbing the smaller boys wris and startling a loud squark from his lips as he dropped the fig and it burst with a wet thud. "Come." he insisted and tugged. "Come." The smaller boy struggled once in the vice like grip, then followed the bigger and stronger boy. Trotting at his heels like an obedient puppy.

Bakura lead him directly to the bread seller, murmured for him to remain there hidden behind a cart, then left him.

The small boy stood on tiptoe and craned his neck to watch. With one eye on the seller, Bakura crept closer to the stall, then in a flash he snatched up a honey cake and raced back to where his companion was hiding. "Run!" he commanded as he shot past. The boy hesitated briefly then, in his haste to catch up with the other, he stumbled and almost tripped over his own feet. But he ran anyway.

Not used to running for a long time he quickly fell behind, tiring, and then he lost sight of the streaming white hair as he was swallowed up by the crowds.

Slowing to a walk, he scanned the heaving and churning mass of peasents for him. His eyes wide and frightened. Then he felt someone grab at his hood, uttering a squeak as he was hoisted from his feet and dragged beneath an old abandoned cart.

"I wondered where you were. I turned and you had gone." Bakura said as he broke the honey cake in two and held out half to his companion.

"You run really fast." the small boy panted and took the offered cake.

Bakura grinned and his chest swelled with pride, he crammed his mouth so full of cake that he sprayed crumbs when he spoke. "I'm the fastest of my village."

The small boy stared in silent awe and nibbled his own hunk, then he frowned and tilted his head in confusion. "What is that mark?"

Without thinking Bakura reached up and touched the grid like mark on his cheek. "A scar."

The boy opened his mouth to ask another question but was cut off by a hard look. They sat in silence for a few moments, simply eating the cake, then the boy spoke again. " Won't your Papa be angry that you took the cake?"

Bakura shrugged and finished chewing. "He's not my Papa." he mumbled softly.

"Well, where is your Papa then? And your Mama?"

Bakura closed his eyes and took a shakey breath, in his mind he could still see his mother laying dead on the sands. "Dead." The boy's mouth twitched into a silent 'O' and he slid up beside Bakura and leaned against him. Bakura glanced down at the boy in surprise, not really sure what to do next. Just as he began to relax against him, two loud booming voices startled them apart.

"Pharaoh is raging up a storm with the Prince's disappearance." One voice said.

The other grunted in agreement. "He's ordered the Priests to find the whelp instead of the soldiers."

Bakura shrank away at the mention of the soldiers and cowered as far from the voices as he could.

"Pharaoh will have the boys hide when they find the little ruffian, causing such a terrible uproar."

The small boy crept beside Bakura on his hands and knees and huddled against him. They lay there, like two puppies waiting for a beating from the master, until the voices weakened and the two men tramped away. The boy began to crawl to the edge of the cart when Bakura grabbed his ankle and held him.

"Don't." he hissed desperately. "The soldiers."

The boy shook his head and smiled in encouragement. "The said there are no soldiers, only the Priests."

When Bakura still looked doubtful, the boy crawled back and bumped him with his hip. "Do not say you are afraid of the Priests. They are as slow as an ancient tortoise."

Bakura swung a glare at him only to be met with crimson that glittered with mischief. "I am _not _afraid."

The boy grinned. "Well then, shall we go?"

Bakura paused and chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully, then nodded once. The pair wriggled from beneath their hiding place.

They spent hours trotting around the market plaza together, occasionally the boy would clasp Bakura's hand in excitement and tug him toward one wonder or another, and Bakura would keep their hunger and thirst quenched throughout their adventuring, pilfering fruits and bread and water for them. Periodically they returned to the old abandonedcart and rested in the cool shade, laying side by side in contentment. The final time they crept beneath the cart they curled around each other and promptly fell asleep, their bellies full and their curiosity sated for now.

An hour later Bakura stirred and awoke first, he nudged the other boy who lay curled along his side like a kitten.

"Wake up." he hissed when the other made a sound close to a sleepy whimper, and burrowed himself deeper into Bakura's side. He nudged him again, this time hard enough so the boy yelped and leapt awake.

"I've to go." Bakura mumbled. "Rahemu shall not be pleased should I keep him waiting much longer for my return."

They boy nodded and stretched biting back a yawn. "And I should go too. Those men were right, Papa will have my hide should I keep him any longer."

It took a moment for Bakura to understand, then he turned to stare at him wordlessly. The young Prince grinned shyly. Bakura shook his head, sloughing off the heavy blanket of confusion. "You're the..." he gave his head another sharp shake. "Rahemu is waiting for me." he muttered lamely and bolted.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"There you are boy. What kept you?" Rahemu smiled down from his mount.

Bakura gazed up at him from beneath hooded lids and thick dark lashes. "I lost track of time..."

"Well, no harm done. Get yourself up pup." he reached a hand down and swung the boy up behind him. As Bakura attempted to wrap his short legs around the animals wide back, he clung to Rahemu's sword belt to steady himself . Rahemu nudged the horse onwards with his hips and the boy clung even tighter to the leather, he then turned to glance back up at the Palace where his companion would be running to as he rode out through the city gates and grinned to himself.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Sorry, I'm a bit rusty with this lol. I hope you are enjoying the fic so far. Please R&R... You know the routine by now.

Stay Smexy. xXx


	3. Companionship

**Author's Note:**

Okay as I'm laying at home with a seized up back today, I might as well try to get this story completed. Or at least get a few more chapters up. A quick warning though. This chapter is, if not the longest chappy of this fic (possibly the longest chappy I have ever written) than one of them.

It has blood, fighting and male nudity. It is not, however, a yaoi pairing between Atem and Bakura. It is set in ancient Egypt and the Egyptians had no qualms about running around naked, be it with the opposite gender or the same.

Anyway time for action and for Bakura and Atem's personalities to develop more into who they are. Happy reading.

**Disclaimer:**

I don't wanna say it... They know I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!... But someday... (sigh)

**Of Kings And Thieves.**

**Chapter. 3:**

Bakura found himself sneaking into the city more and more frequently. And, as the years passed, Atem was fast becoming his closest friend. This morning, Bakura had climbed one of the date palms that scaled the side of the Palace, and reached the window to Atem's private chambers.

He began to lift himself through the window when he spotted the Prince. Hunched and pouring over a scroll, looking positively unamused.

"Well, that doesn't look much fun."

Atem jumped at the sound of the unexpected remark, scattering the papyrus rolls across the floor. "Bakura!" he snapped and swiftly dropped to his knees to gather the ancient scrolls from the ground. "What are you doing here? Go away!"

"Can't." the thief grinned. "I haven't the strength to climb back down."

"You can't come in." Atem repeated stubbornly and scowled to cover the delighted smile tugging at his lips.

"Very well."

Bakura seated himself on the windowsill, one leg inside the room, the other dangling out the window. "What do you want?" Atem demanded, still battling the grin that was trying to tug the frustration from his face.

"Mischief. Isn't that what I always want? My partner in crime." he turned his rusted eyes to his friend and eyed the regal stance that Atem, looking fairly uncomfortable, was standing in. "Or are you too royal to be a child right now?"

Atem rolled his eyes. "You are intolerable!"

"Yes. And balanced quite precariously upon the windowsill. Now can I come in, before I attract the guards notice, or not?"

The Prince did not voice his permission, but he stepped back, his hands on his hips. Bakura jumped inside, landing lightly and smiled, hoping he had impressed his friend enough to earn a grin from that stern and serious face that, in his opinion, really didn't suit the boy. But Atem did not return the smile.

"You should go."

Bakura's face faltered.

"Father shall not be pleased should he find you here. He is not fond of your people and their stealth and cunning." he paused and eyed the thief carefully. "Though, on the other hand. He could find use of you."

Bakura snorted and scowled at the way Atem was eying him. "I dare say he could." he said coldly. "But I am not a man who can be bought with a few pretty trinkets. And I am not the piece of meat that you are thinking of when you look at me like that!"

Atem's head snapped up. He had learned, very quickly, that walking Bakura's temper was very much like treading a knife's edge. He raised his hands, palms up, to ward off his friend's wrath. "I meant no offense. I was merely musing."

Both boys simply looked at each other for a few moments, wordlessly. Bakura's jaw tensed as he struggled to pull his temper back in check. Then he grinned and declared quite suddenly. "I want to swim."

Atem chuckled as the tension, that threatened to swallow them both a moment ago, diffused. "It would make for a pleasant change. And I know of a quiet pool. Safe from the Niles crocodiles."

Bakura scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Where is your sense of adventure?" he flung an arm around Atems neck. "You think far too much with your head," he rapped his knuckles atop of his head. "and not enough with your balls."

Atem shouldered him aside and rubbed where the bony knuckles had rasped his scalp. "And you think too much with them. you will find yourself separated from them one day."

There was something wild and dangerous in Bakura's face just then, and his eyes flashed with something almost menacing. "And until that day, I shall continue to think with them. I'd rather be half a man in the eyes of a woman than in the eyes of a man."

"And if you swim with crocodiles, you shall be half a man in neither. You shall simply be a dead man."

"Better a dead man than a dull one." Bakura said so softly it felt almost cold and spiteful. He spread his ams and spun himself in circles until his calves hit Atem's couch and toppled in a heap amongst the cushions and furs.

Atem flinched at the remark. Hurt clouded his eyes. The thief's opinion of him mattered to the boy and the off-handed words cut deep into his pride. He cast an eye over the papyrus scrolls he had been studying. "I am not dull!" he said savagely. "Father instructed me to study the records of past Pharaoh's and their dynasties. He said I am to be educated if I am to rule as Pharaoh when he begins his journey to the west."

"Dull. Dull. Dull!" Bakura's voice sang from the mound of cushions. "Surely your father realizes you are still a child and that he still rules. There is plenty of time to educate you when you are a man and not a boy."

The Prince's cheeks reddened. Many young boys would give anything to stand where he did. A boy-pharaoh. Destined for great things. Doting servants and nurse-maids. His every whim filled no sooner than the words left his mouth. A loving and fiercely protective father. And yet, they had the one thing he did not. Atem wanted, more than anything else, to have what the peasant boys had...

...Freedom.

He wanted to explore. Wrestle. To play and show off like Bakura could. He didn't want to have to sit and listen to the woes of a rich lord and how his land was 2 cubits smaller than the neighboring lord. He didn't want to be allowed to hunt only with Siamun as his companion, criticizing his every shot.

He didn't realize he was still musing to himself until Bakura had materialized in front of him and grabbed his wrist. "Now come." he tugged once, then released his grip and ran to the window. Without so much as checking his stride, Bakura planted his hands firmly on the sill and vaulted through with the grace and ease of a young leopard.

Startled, Atem raced to the window and leaned out, expecting to see his friend dashed upon the rocky ground below.

Instead he saw the white haired boy clinging to the date palms trunk and laughing, that wild and dangerous gleam returned to his eye. Atem let out his bitten off breath slowly. "You frightened me." he called down.

Bakura dropped the last few feet to the ground below, his sudden weight sent up little clouds as his feet thumped the sand. He lifted his head and glanced up at the young Prince leaning over the sill and staring down at him. "Come on. Where is your sense of excitement? Of danger?"

Atem sighed heavily. "We've already discussed this-"

"You are a spoiled, pampered little infant." the taunt drifted to the Prince's ears. "You have sucked at your wet-nurses breast for far too long. You have had your arse wiped and nose blown by someone else for so many years that you need not your dignity as a man nor your instincts. So you just lie there, kicking and wailing, like the newborn you are and wait for someone to change your swaddling-sheet, while I grow to be the mightiest of all the Great Lions of Egypt."

Atem felt warm humiliation creep up his neck. Then seething outrage replaced his embarrassment and he snarled. "You dare speak to me like that, peasant? I'm am the Crowned Prince of Egypt. A God-King. You would do well to remember your place!"

Mocking laughter drifted up to the window, and Atem lifted himself onto the sill. "I'm just as good as you."

"Prove it!"

Atem trembled, he didn't feel as brave as he had sounded only moments ago, but his pride would not allow him to back down now. As he lifted himself onto the sill, he took a deep breath to steady his nerves and sprang to the palm, hugging himself to the trunk he inched his way down. When his feet touched the the sand, his knees wobbled and threatened to give way beneath him as adrenaline pumped through his body.

Bakura clapped him so hard across his shoulder that he stumbled. "There, you see? Not everything I suggest will kill you-"

"No. Just most." Atem panted.

&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&

Bakura eyed the pool as he shed his tunic, unimpressed with the calm waters and quiet banks.As Atem tugged his own tunic over his head, he cast a hidden glance at his friend, his slim, sleek boyish body already taking on the hard contours of manhood. He turned his focus back to his own build. He was all jutting angles. Coltish and awkward, where Bakura was more lithe and powerful.

The young Prince grit his teeth as he kicked off his kilt, the heavy coil of jealousy settling low in his belly.

Tossing his sandals beside his discarded clothing, Bakura pulled himself upright and unkinked his spine. He whirled around to face Atem, who balked. Lowering his head, Bakura's lips, tugged into a predatory grin, lifted so he bared his teeth. He lunged. Grabbing the Prince's forearm, he yanked him around and hooked his foot behind Atem's knee, dropping him heavily onto the sand. Launching himself upon the fallen Prince, Bakura jammed his elbow into the hollow of his collar and pinning his thighs with his knees.

Atem swallowed with difficulty. "B-Bakura? Whu..."

He froze mid-sentence as he watched Bakura reach his free hand into the folds of his discarded tunic and drew a long-bladed dagger from the bundle, sunlight winked off the knife-edge. "Don't move!" he breathed.

Atem's eyes widened in fear. "N-no..."

Bakura's eyes narrowed to slits, focusing just to the left of the Prince's throat. They hardened and dulled as he lifted the dagger over his head. His lip curled as he swung down.

Atem screwed up his eyes. "BAKURAAAAAAAAA!!!!"

Then there was silence. Only the shrieking cries of the Ibis' as the took to the air with the drumming of wing-beats in a panicked cloud.

Bakura's chest heaved as he stared with unfocused eyes at his white knuckled fist, wrapped around the daggers leather hilt, all the colour drained from his face.

Atem cracked open an eye and turned his face to the blade by his ear, buried in the sand... and through the black, hooded head of a cobra. With a shriek, cracked with both fear and the onset of puberty, Atem bolted upright, sending Bakura flying and kicked his heels into the sand. Scuttling back-wards away from the dead snake. "W-what? Bakura... I thought... I mean..." he couldn't seem to spit out actual sentences.

Bakura kept his head lowered and his eyes hooded with hurt as he wrenched his knife free from the dead reptile, and set about cleaning its blood from the blade. "I know what you thought." he said. His voice flat and emotionless. "You don't trust me."

"Of course I do!" Atem cried and grabbed Bakura's shoulders so roughly that his fingers pinched the skin as he shook him."I do trust you! You startled me is all. Leaping at me. Your dagger drawn."

Bakura stared at the ground still, his face impassive.

"Damned near pissed yourself, didn't you?"

The voice betrayed the hurt on his face, slowly he lifted his gaze to skewer Atem's own.

Then the Prince lunged at the thief as he dropped his dagger harmlessly to the sand and, tried to wrestle the stronger boy to the ground. "That was not funny!" he cried scrabbling for a grip on Bakura's thigh. Laughing, the thief wrapped his arms around Atem's hunched form, his back pressed flat to his chest as he hefted the Prince away. "Then why are you laughing?"

Finally free from Atem's grasp, Bakura reeled around and bolted into the water, kicking icy waves up his legs and into the others face. He struck out in a crawl when the water reached his middle, swimming as hard as he could. But Atem, being the swifter swimmer, caught him quickly. He clutched the thief's ankle firmly in both hands and yanked him back toward the bank.

The wall of water crashed down upon them and Atem vaulted onto his back, forcing the thief beneath the surface. When he burst from the depths, Bakura coughed up great lungfuls of weed and water, and his teeth chattered already from the cold.

Turning to face Atem, who laughed uncontrollably at the bedraggled boy in front of him, Bakura paddled closer, a wicked glint in his eye. In a torrential wave, he launched himself at the boy-pharaoh and wrapped his arms and legs around him in a tight embrace.

Chest crushed to chest, and almost nose to nose, there was no mistaking the triumphant gleam in Bakura's eye. Hooking his heels into the backs of Atem's knees, Bakura smirked and buckled the others leg, driving him into the cold depths of the pool. Vanishing from sight Atem felt the thief's feet plant themselves firmly in his gut and used him to propel himself toward the bank.

Atem broke through the surface and coughed. "That was a dirty trick!" He snapped and wiped water from his eyes.

Wading toward the bank and still pinching the water from his eyes and nose, he heard the ominous clunk of bronze weapons on armour and his chest tightened. He could hear the distinct and gruff voices of the guards and the whimpering cry of Bakura.

Lifting his head he confirmed his suspicions. There on the bank stood two Palace guards and one of Pharaoh's personal bodyguards, sneering at and torturing the boy.

The bodyguard held the squirming boy out by his hair. The huge hand was so deeply wrapped in the white strands, it seemed more like he was being held by his scalp.

"Here lads." he boomed, swinging the boy closer onto the bank and dodging the small balled fist that swung at him. "He think's he is a soldier. See how he struggles? And how he bares his trophies of war so brazenly." He grabbed the boys shoulder roughly in his free hand and, with the fist wrapped in hair, jerked the head to one side exposing the boys scar. The two Palace guards roared with laughter.

"What is the meaning of this, Kajan?"

The body guard froze, still holding the whimpering boy in his twisted position, he turned to face Atem.

Bakura could not believe his eyes. Atem, at twelve years old, naked and with that ridiculous authoritative expression on his face, commanded the full attention of this hulking brute of a man who, if he chose to, could snap his body like kindling. And yet the boy bore down on him, unafraid.

"I ask you again, Kajan. What is the meaning of this intrusion?" He demanded and planted his fists on his hips. His face, the face that had been young and laughing only moments before, had hardened. His crimson eyes darkened with outrage as they slid over Bakura's form. His legs were slick in a thick layer of black mud that reached to his hips and his small hand grasped at Kajan's huge wrist as though it could ease the lightening bolts of pain racing through his skull.

"Kajan." Atem seethed, his voice, dangerously low and soft. "If you do not loosen your tongue, I shall have Menmrin loosen it for you."

The bodyguard's jaw tightened at the threat. He slid is gaze to the Palace guards, watching them warily. Though they had laughed with him when he'd snatched the Tehenuen/ Egyptian pup, they had no loyalty to him. They would simply follow the orders of whomever was of higher status, with the single-mindedness of a fish and the intelligence to match. And right now they would follow the orders of the boy-pharaoh standing before them.

Menmrin gripped the hilt of the sickle blade on his hip menacingly and took a step toward Kajan. The bodyguard held his ground, defiance and rage burned in his eyes.

"Sheath your blade before, I sheath it between your ribs." he snarled, spittle flying from his lips.

Menmrin hesitated for an instant, confusion flickered behind his eyes. Targets never issued threats, not against the words of Pharaoh or his sons. He glanced to Atem briefly, then took another step.

"Stand down Menmrin."

Kajan smirked and glared at the Prince. "Still not quite man enough to see your orders through, boy? Pharaoh would be disappointed!" he pulled his lips from his teeth in triumph at the boy. "Pharaoh demands you home. He is furious at your sneaking away again."

Atem matched the cold glare with one of his own. "I am man enough not to humiliate those smaller than myself."

"Pharaoh holds no interest in any other than his own brat. He'd care not for what could happen toward this whelp."

Bakura balked at the underlying menace in Kajan's words, he was in very real danger, and he re-doubled his struggles for escape. Kajan shook the boy violently, so he emitted a yowl of agonized pain. The bodyguard tilted his head up and sucked a hissing breath through clenched teeth, his eyes slitting. "I could slit this boys throat right now. And Pharaoh's only concern would be for his own brat."

Atem froze. Kajan was threatening murder. "Father would have you strangled for murdering the innocent."

Kajan roared with laughter. "You would think so, wouldn't you? But I know of a little secret." His eyes narrowed again at the Prince. "I have murdered before on your father's behalf. Only, at Pharaoh's command, it's execution, not murder." He slowly drew his dagger from its sheath at his hip. "I have not heard the dying squeals of a child for too long."

He pressed the tip of the blade at the dip in Bakura's throat, who let out a sobbing whimper despite his biting down on his lip. Kajan suppressed a delighted shiver.

"I do hope you won't disappoint me boy." He murmured against Bakura's ear, his hot and sour breath washing over the boys face, filling his nostrils with its foul stench. He forced the bile, that had gathered in his throat, back down to his stomach. "I have acquired a taste for it ever since my brother and I attacked your village."

Kajan felt the boy go rigid in his arms. And he twisted the blade so he now lay the full length along the base of his throat. "You did not think, I would not recognize a thief when I see one? You do not think, I would not remember feeling that whore of a mother slide from my blade as I killed her?" He pressed the blade closer to Bakura's throat, so it dented the skin but didn't quite pierce it. "You look so much like her, boy. You may have Egyptian blood pumping through your veins. But I see the Tehenu disease in you."

Bakura's chest tightened. He was in the hands of the man who killed his mother. The same man who added to the screams of his fallen people that haunted his dreams." Hatred and fear dueled in his gut. Then he saw the winking light of his own dagger, half buried in the sand, the leather hilt pointing to him. He strained for the blade as Atem drew Kajan's attention away from him. Finally his fingers touched the leather and he fairly lunged to grasp it fully, his throat stinging as the bit through the skin.

Menmrin spotted Bakura's movement as he swung his dagger up, aimed at the soft flesh between Kajan's belly and groin. He hollered a warning to the second Palace guard while he shielded Atem, who darted forward and snatched the boy's wrist away, but not before the he lay open Kajan's thigh. With a bellow of pain, Kajan flung the boy away, clutching the torn flesh as blood jetted through his fingers.

Bakura howled and clawed at the guard who grabbed him. Finally biting down and ripping a mouthful of flesh from the arm that held him, the grip vanished and a shout of agony sounded from somewhere above him. Freed once more he streaked toward Kajan who stood ready, a vile grin on his face. "That's right, little thief boy! Fly at me with everything you have!"

Bakura launched himself at Kajan, eyes narrowed and blazing. Raising his arm, the bodyguard swung a powerful backhanded blow into the boy. The blow reverberated through his right temple and coursed through his body, spinning him into the pool once more. Pulling himself upright, Bakura managed to snatch a breath before Kajan's hand grabbed him about the face and slammed him back-wards beneath the churning waters. He meant to drown the boy.

"If you miss your mother so much. I shall send you to join her in the afterlife!"

Mud and water slapped up into his face, coating him in its black ooze as Bakura panicked and thrashed wildly, slashing open gashes upon the mans arms and shoulders.

Atem finally broke free from Menmrin's protection and raced forward before skidding to a halt. Tears streamed down his face as he watched Bakura's movements slow.

The bubbles were slowing and Kajan loosened his grasp. He turned to the Prince and sneered in triumph as the boy dropped his head and allowed the tears to flow. Then the sound of rushing water drew the mans attention back to the shallow muddied water. He opened his mouth in a roar.

Wrapping both hands around the hilt, Bakura thrust up up wards, throwing all his weight behind the strike and buried the whole blade through the roof of Kajan's mouth. Killing him instantly. The body slumped off the boy and into the weeds. Sitting waist deep in the thick ooze, Bakura clawed mud from his eyes and coughed up more mud and water from his lungs.

Atem stepped into the mud beside his friend, slipped once and dropped to his knees beside him. "Bakura?"

Bakura's head snapped up and he squinted at the Prince, trying to focus. Then his face twisted into a snarl as he remembered what had just happened. "Get away from me!"

Atem recoiled and stared, refusing to back away. "Bakura, please. Listen to me."

"You... Why should I listen to you? You'll only try to defend your fathers actions."

"He didn't know."

The protest was weak and Bakura sneered. "Of course he didn't. He only ordered and signed their sentences!" he spat sarcastically "This is the man who orders you to study the scrolls so you may rule correctly when he's gone? He is a tyrant! And you shall follow him willingly into tyranny also."

Atem glared coldly. "My father is no Tyrant. He is a great and powerful ruler."

"He is powerful because sacrifices those in his way. He is as much to blame as that corpse in the reeds." Standing, Bakura roughly shouldered Atem aside. Struggling up the bank, Bakura paused and half turned to glance back down at the Prince glaring up at him. "There is blood on the sands of this very Egypt... and the blood is of the innocent. He who stands with innocent blood on his hands, shall be the first to fall into darkness." He turned and continued walking away from the pool.

The Prince scrambled up the Bank and stared wordlessly as the last thief of Kul Elna misted away in the shimmering heat haze of the desert.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Good lord that was a long chappy. Wisely I've decided to cut this chappy short ant put the other half... yes, half, onto the next chappy and maybe I'll be able to squeeze an extra chapter out for all those who read it to the end.

It has gotten much more violent and there's more violence to come so whoot.

You know the routine by now. R&R please guys.


	4. Betrayal

**Authors Note:**

I am still lying at home with a locked back and, though I'm surprised to admit it, I really miss work...

Right as I said this chapter is actually the second half of the previous chapter. Hopefully it will be strong enough to hold its own.

I think I have discovered a character I truly click with. I have always adored Ryo and Bakura, I can really understand Bakura's logic, and I secretly rooted for him when he stormed the palace in the Millennium World saga.

Anyway, this chapter is really just an attempt to link what I have already written to the Millennium World saga. Wish me luck...

**Disclaimer:**

Okay. If I owned Yu-Gi-Oh! I would not be posting fiction on a free site...

**Warning...**

There is a little sex in this chapter. Nothing overly graphic, but it is more graphic than anything I have written previously.

**Of Kings And Thieves.**

He was numb as he pushed the hut door open and quietly slipped inside.

"Is that you lad?" Mahet, Rahemu's wife, called from the huts cooking nook.

He staggered toward her voice, tottering and swaying as though he'd never known legs before, unaware of his surroundings. Stumbling over a mound of cushions, he threw his foot out awkwardly, almost stepping in the nursing mother cat lying in the middle of the floor with her kittens. She lifted her head and pulled her ears flat to her skull, hissing a warning at him.

Grasping the alcove in the little hut's wall, Bakura sagged flat to the wall, his head hanging limply to his chest. Mahet turned away from the hunk of meat she had been salting and uttered a cry when she saw the boy, holding himself upright by leaning against the wall. Black mud coated his body and matted the usually gleaming pale hair. Blood mingled with the mud as it dribbled down his chest.

Gathering her shirts, the woman rushed forward, shrieking as she folded the boy into her arms. "RAHEMU!"

As the arms tightened around him, Bakura's knees finally gave out beneath him and they both sank to the floor. "What happened? Are you hurt?" she fussed and used the hem of her skirt to wrap around him as he shivered, the shock finally wearing off. "Where is that man? RAHEMU!!"

Bakura shook his head mutely and buried himself into her arms, fighting back tears. He wouldn't cry. He hadn't cried since he was a tiny child and he'd be damned if he started again now. Mahet could feel the tiny quivers in his muscles as they held back his fear and grief, and she rocked him in her arms as she had done when he had been small, her face crushed to the mud caked strands.

Finally, the door burst open and Rahemu slammed through. He had aged well over the years. His golden eyes darkened and his face twisted in anxiety as he stared down at the woman cradling the boy in her arms. "Mahet," he said, his voice calm as he attempted to cover his own concerns and he dropped to his knees beside her. "What happened?"

"I don't know." she wailed softly and lifted her face, mud streaking her cheek. "He will not speak."

Rahemu gripped Bakura's chin in his hand and easily lifted the boys head, surprised that he didn't struggle. He tried to meet the boys gaze, but the eyes were held downcast. He lacked the usual feisty and devilish character that he was known for in the village, and it tore at Rahemu's heart to see him sitting as a mere ghost of his former self. "Tell me what happened, lad."

Bakura's lips twitched as though he were about to speak, then his lids closed and he turned his head away. Rahemu growled in frustration, he jerked his hand away and the boys head dropped and inch. "We can not offer you help if you will not speak to us!" he growled and stared hard at his face for a few moments more. When the child still refused to speak, he chuffed. He pushed himself to his feet and walked out of the hut, the door slamming behind him.

Mahet carefully combed her fingers through his long hair, tugging the knots and tangles and mud out. The door burst open again. Rahemu had returned. In his hands, he carried a full bucket of water. "Move, Mahet!" he said firmly. The moment the woman had moved away from the child, Rahemu swung the bucket, dumping the cold water over the boy.

It felt like thousands of tiny daggers pricked at his skin as the ice pellets hit his body and Bakura howled in surprise, swinging a glare at the man.

"Stand up!"

Dragging himself to his feet and clenching his teeth to prevent them chattering, Bakura shivered with cold. Rahemu handed the bucket to Mahet and murmured for her to fetch a second bucketful. She nodded and turned, leaving the two men alone.

"Now," the man said. His voice, harsh and authoritative, as he threw a cloth to the boy. "Clean yourself up."

Wordlessly, Bakura began wiping the mud from his arms as Rahemu watched him with eyes of honey gold, only turning away when Mahet returned with the second bucket of water. "Now will you speak?"

Bakura ignored the question and continued scrubbing the mud from his body, moving onto his chest. He didn't make a sound this time as the water hit, though it was no warmer than before.

Again Rahemu handed the empty bucket to Mahet and dismissed her. And the whole cycle was repeated until Bakura was clean. Bakura wrapped his arms around his chest and shivered uncontrollably his teeth chattering despite being clamped together, hard. Blood dribbled from the paper thin slice at the base of his throat and down his chest. The bruises on his face, where Kajan had held him so tightly, had darkened.

Mahet let out a sobbing gasp and moved as though to run to the boy. Rahemu placed an arm out and held her back. She glanced up at her husband, tears shining in her eyes as he shook his head and she fell back. He fixed the boy with a hard glare, and the child matched it. Stalking to where Bakura stood, Rahemu grasped his bicep roughly and propelled the dripping boy into the cooking nook. He forced him to stand in front of the fire as he inspected the injuries.

"A man did this." He said bluntly. He spanned his hand over the bruises on the face to confirm it.

Bakura nodded.

"Well, no real harm done."

Bakura glared at the man in silent fuming. "No harm?"

Rahemu paused in false shock and fed more kindling into the fire. "So you can use your tongue still."

"No harm done?" The voice cracked under the strain of emotion.

"You are still breathing aren't you?"

"Barely." Bakura growled. "He tried to kill me."

"My, my." Rahemu tsked.

"The man tried to kill me, and you don't care."

"He tried to kill you with a few bruises and a shallow cut?"

Bakura turned and glared. "No. He tried to drown me."

"Positively chatty now aren't you?" The man smirked in triumph and found a folded tunic of his.

The boy clamped his mouth shut and flushed. Rahemu had tricked the information out of him, and he had done so very easily.

"So you had a bit of a brawl did you?" he tugged the over-sized tunic over the boys head, covering his nakedness and attempting to warm him. "And with a man no less." There was no hiding the hint of pride in his voice. "You know, you really had Mahet ups-"

"I killed him."

Rahemu paused and stared directly into those big rusted eyes and frowned. "You killed him? For a few minor injuries?"

"He tried to drown me!" Bakura repeated in a desperate and insistent tone. Clutching the mans tunic and tugging, he willed Rahemu to understand. "He tried to drown me and said he knew me from the attack. He attacked my home the night you found me. He called me a little thief boy!" the words tumbled out of his mouth so quickly that they blurred together. "He killed my mother and destroyed Kul Elna at Pharaoh's demand!"

"Kul Elna? The Village of the dead? You're a Kul Elna thief?"

Bakura growled in vague annoyance. "I have already said that." then his eyes hardened and Rahemu saw something dark and powerful awaken inside the boy. "I have found those who wittingly ordered the deaths of my people. I want vengeance. For every hurt and betrayal, I shall repay them tenfold. Pharaoh shall-"

"Hush!" Rahemu snapped. "Hold your tongue. To speak against Pharaoh is treason, punishable by death."

"But... You would not allow that, would you Rahemu?" Bakura pleaded, the darkness behind his eyes quickly vanished, and, he was a child once more. "You would not allow the soldiers to take me away?"

Rahemu paused, then shook his head slowly, his face drawn tight. "No," he breathed. "But somethings, even I cannot change, should someone overhear you making threats against this lands God-King." Then he paused and murmured. "If Pharaoh falls, Egypt would stand as a child without a father to guide it. Then the double crown falls to the next in the Royal line." he glanced to Bakura and he pulled his lips away from his teeth in a vicious smile. "Pharaoh is old and the Prince is a child still... And you are sorely in need of training if you are to extract your revenge." he paused again, deep in thought.

"You will help me?"

Rahemu nodded. "Let us see if I can keep you alive long enough to fulfill your vow."

&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&

Ahnett trembled with a mixture of anticipation and the chill of the night air. She reclined on the couch and gazed at the young man, stood across the room from her. He was young, in his late teens,. Strong and exotically beautiful. He had caused quite a stir of excitement amongst the dancing girls in the Harlem where she worked her trade. He often came into the brothel where he would select a quiet corner in which he ate, drank, and watched the girls before leaving, never selecting a girl to accompany him.

From her position on the couch, she watched him shrug his robe from his hard shoulders and she secretly marveled his lean and lithe build. Her breath caught in her throat when he turned to face her, his upper body littered with tiny silver scars. He was a warrior. She squirmed in excitement and shifted to allow him room on the couch beside her as he kicked off his kilt.

She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his chest to his belly, where she stroked her fingers in small circles. He gently mouthed her throat, she was so lost in the movement of his mouth upon her soft, pale skin, she barely noticed the hand placed over her small breast, teasing the nipple out between thumb and forefinger. She whimpered softly responding to the skillful fingers, and turned her face to his, her mouth pressed to his mouth and his tongue quested against her lips. His touch was gentle yet firm, so unlike the rough touch of the usual men who sought out a dancing girls company.

When he finally knelt over her, Ahnett arched her small and slim body almost in half, her belly pressed to his and she could feel him trapped against her thigh. He laughed a soft breathy chuckle from somewhere above her. Again she pushed up to him and this time he responded, rocking his hips down to hers in a rhythm. His voice chuckled through her breast where he had now settled and suckled. She growled in frustration and altered the angle of her hips. He flew deep into her, his hips flat to hers.

She whimpered and writhed as she lay pinned beneath him, unable to do anything except cling to him and ride out his strokes that alternated in depth and speed. Despite his youth, she was obviously not his first. Above her, his eyes slid to slits and the pink tip of his tongue, caught between his teeth, showed as he measured her breaths, tracking it's rise and fall. His hand abandoned her breast and rummaged with his discarded clothing, while his other slid beneath her neck and cupped the back of her head.

She could hear his own breathing above her grow more ragged, his strokes grew more and more erratic. Drawing his hands from their previous positions, he clutched the cushions beneath her head. Then his back curved gracefully, driving his hips flat to hers and forcing her deeper into the soft couch. His head thrown back in a cry aimed at the heavens, as warmth flooded her.

Slowly he lowered his head to her, his mouth pressed hard to her lips and the tip of his tongue flicking, quick as a snakes, against hers.

Ahnett stiffened briefly. Had she seen that cold darkness behind the warm russet in his eyes? Was there something cruel and deadly behind these lips and touches? He must have sensed her doubt as he drew a hand up behind her head once more and deepened the kiss even more so. Calming her and soothing away her fears. Melting back into the warm, gentle probing in her mouth, she disregarded her concerns and her lids slid shut...

The mouth pulled away and before she could protest, she felt icy fingers of pain grip her mind as something pricked and slid deeply into her head, behind her left ear. The sickly notion of fear settled in her stomach and she fought, kicking up at him as he clapped a hand over her mouth and sneered, twisting the thin blade in her temple.

The last thing she saw was the cold, killing light blaze in his rusted eyes and those lips curl on his scarred face.

And then, the dancing girl, Ahnett, was dead.

Bakura rolled from the body lying on the couch and snatched up his clothing. Dressing quickly, he sat astride the windowsill and shouted as loudly as he could into the night. "MURDER!" Grinning he cast one last look at the dead girl. It was a pity she had to die, she had been fun and he had enjoyed her uses, but she was of more use to him in this state.

Dropping from the sill, he rolled and pushed up into a run as he hit the ground. He could already hear the soldiers racing to where his call had been. Darting down a darkened ally he mentally tallied his victims so far.

Eight young dancing girls. A message that the common folk were not safe. And three royal guards. A message that even the young Pharaoh was also fair game. Each killed within one week. Surely the boy-King would take notice now...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yay, for sex. lol. Well I don't think Ahnett would agree with me there.

Just a quick FYI, at the beginning of the chappy both Bakura and Atem were twelve... at the whole dancing girl sex/murder scene, Bakura is about sixteen. He has been in training with Rahemu.

Any hoo. Please review.

Stay Smexy. xXx


	5. First Blood

**Authors Note:**

Okay, seriously I am debating having my spine removed. 5 DAYS!!!! For five days now I have been stuck in bed with just my laptop and fan-writings for company. Anyway, it's not all bad, at least I'm actually getting the time to upload chappies as I do them.

Now, I have a challenge for those who are reading this fic. In the previous chapter, Rahemu could see something dark and powerful stirring behind Bakura's eyes (remember, the eyes are the windows to the soul). What could be awakening inside him? Send your name, address and answer to ... lol just kidding.

Anyhoo. Let's get the show on the road.

P.s. I think, for spell-casters, Mana and Mahado cast very few actual spells...

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!... It owns me...

**Of King's And Thieves.**

**Chapter. 5:**

He growled in frustration. Shoving his golden bangs from his face, his hand carried on the motion and settled at the back of his neck, kneading the stress-bunched muscle there.

Another death. The eleventh in only a few weeks. As usual, he had dispatched his police fleet into the city and, as usual the answer came back as the one he dreaded. Murder. But, not the murder of a jealous husband or wife, nor of the brutish behavior of a drunken lout who had gotten out of hand. No. None of these were the cause of any of the deaths of late. His Kingdom had been grasped by the testicles in the hand of a cold-blooded killer. Trained and cunning, distributing a quick, clean and precise death to his victims.

He sighed. He should be grateful for that. But for some reason, that only unsettled him more so.

Atem hunched over his knees and pressed his palms together, tapping his lips thoughtfully with his index fingers. _'Who is doing this? For what purpose do these crimes serve?'_

Siamun Muran, Grand Vizier to him and his father, turned into the throne room, his face gaunt and withered with age. Pharaoh balked. He had not seen the old man's face so grim since he had caught, and soundly cuffed he might add, the boy pulling faces at the girl, Mahado had taken as an apprentice sorceress, during one of his lessons.

Siamun grumbled and knelt before his King, pressing his fist to his chest in respect and proof of his love and loyalty for the crown and the one who wore it. "I bring news, my Pharaoh." he said as Atem's lips quirked in an affectionate smile for the old man.

"Rise up, Lord Siamun, someone of your wisdom and age should not kneel before a mere child in King's clothing."

Bones cracking as he rose stiffly to his feet, Siamun grunted at the age remark. "I did not change your swaddling sheet when you were a babe, simply to be rewarded with cheek from an adolescent whelp." the tone was sharp and yet his eyes twinkled.

Atem laughed and rose from his seat on the throne, crushing the old man in a tight embrace. "I do not know how you have not done away with my rebellious hide. After everything I put you through as a child." he paused and chuckled once at a memory. "I even compared you to an ancient tortoise once."

"An ancient tor-"

He was swiftly cut from his hurt musing as Atem pulled back and moved away, settling once more upon the throne. "So. What of this news you bring?"

Siamun shook the banter from his mind and immediately he recovered his composure. "The police fleet have apprehended a man they believe to be the villainous cur responsible for the tragedy to befall this city."

Instantly, Atem's face hardened and he was Pharaoh once more. "That is good news, my old friend. But, you do not seem relieved."

The Vizier shook his head. "The capture was managed far too swiftly. Almost like he hoped for capture."

"So, you doubt his responsibility for the crimes?"

Again he shook his head. "There is no doubt in my mind, he is the vile creature we have been hunting. He killed two of your fleet before he was bound."

"But-" Atem prompted.

"He is so young. too young to harbor such hatred. And his token struggles lead me to believe he want's to confront you."

"Well then, let us grant him his desire to stand before Pharaoh for his crimes." Atem's tone hardened, he gestured to one of the ever present bodyguards to fetch the prisoner.

"Please, Pharaoh." Siamun protested sharply. "Something does not bode well. There is evil in the air and I fear it is coming after you. Starting with this very man."

Before Atem could question the old man further, the tall and lean shape of the chief of his police fleet strode in. The Millennium Rod clutched tightly within his fist. His blue eyes glinted with ager and the ever present scowl fixed firmly upon his face, as Lord Seto dropped to his knee before the throne. "My Pharaoh." he said simply, "May your life be long under the protection of Horus." he added a blessing of the Pharaoh's patron God to the greeting.

Atem nodded. "May Horus protect you, and those you love, also." he returned the blessing, for Seto was also a Horus man.

"I bring before you, the jackal who violently slue the innocents of your land."

As Lord Seto rose and swept aside, two guards dragged a strangely quiet man into the room, his wrists bound and his head and face covered by a head cloth. Atem leaned to the side as though to peer under the head-wear. The stance the man held was strangely familiar to him. "What is your name, murderer. And speak quickly as I am in no mood to drag this trial out any longer than it needs to be."

A chuckle drifted lazily from the prisoner. "I am hurt, Pharaoh. Only four years have passed since last we saw each other. Surely you have not forgotten me."

Slowly he lifted his head and met the crimson of Atem's eyes with his own russet. Pharaoh's focus slid to the right cheek and settled on the defining scar there.

"B-Bakura?"

Pharaoh went rigid, his fingers curled into talons, digging into the armrests of the throne and his stomach plummeted. There had to be some mistake. Bakura could not be responsible...

Bakura bared his teeth in a snarl disguised as a grin, at Atem. The once gangly and coltish boy, that he had teased so mercilessly, had grown and filled out. He looked far more suited to his role as Pharaoh now. "So you do remember your little play-mate."

Atem swung a hard glare to Lord Seto, rage tightened his face. "Release him!"

He balked and stared back in disbelief. "B-but, he is a dangerous man."

"I said release him! Do not make me ask you again!"

The threat hung in the air and Seto recovered his scowl. Turning to the guards and his face dark with fury, he signaled for the ropes to be cut.

The ropes were swiftly removed and Bakura rubbed the raw skin on his wrists where the coarse fibers had chaffed him. The grin fell away now, leaving only the snarl. Lowering his voice to a cold rumble, he aimed his glare directly at Atem, who blinked back his surprise. "Always were the sentimental fool, weren't you Atem?" He cast a cautious glance from left to right at the guards on ether side. Their hands on hilts. His lip curled. "Always looking for the good in the actions of those you love."

He spun on his heel as he reached into his robe. Spinning a complete circle, his arms spread wide. Atem stared blankly, almost hypnotized by the grace and feline elegance the thief possessed. Barely aware when he stopped turning. He blinked hard, once. Breaking free from his trance and noticing the short sword in Bakura's hand for the first time, he must have pulled it during the spin, the fire-hardened tip pointing down-wards, crimson smeared the blade.

Jerking his head sharply, he stared in horror at the two guards. They clawed at their throats, pink tinted blood bubbles gurgled through the torn flesh before their eyes rolled back into their skulls and they crumpled to the ground, twitching.

"Tell me _Pharaoh_. Could you find something worth defending in that action?"

Before the shock had lifted from either his or his two priests minds, Bakura's face was inches from his own. He was so fast, he hadn't even seen him move. Then Atem was aware of the searing pain racing through his arms and across his shoulders. Glancing down, he saw why they hurt and why Bakura's snarling face was so close to his. The thief was standing on his wrists, pinning them painfully to the armrests.

With a bellow of pain and outrage, Atem struggled violently. Until the sharp, blood-stained sword tip slid under his chin. Lifting Pharaoh's head and skewering his glare with his own, Bakura felt a surge of triumph shudder through him. Atem flinched beneath that predatory gaze.

"You really are a murderer, aren't you?" he breathed in a rhetorical question. "You've sold your soul to Mafdet."

Bakura shook his head and tutted in self-mockery, his face almost playful. Then it hardened again. "So has all of Egypt!" He whipped his wrist up and the blade bit into the flesh on Atem's chin, slicing it open.

"Oh dear... I've cut you." his eyes narrowed dangerously. "What a pity."

Atem glared in arrogant pride. Bakura wanted to hear him scream and beg to be spared. Well then, he'd have a long wait. Blood dribbled from the split, down his throat and stained his bleached white tunic. "You murdered the innocent. You face the death penalty."

He grinned. "Do I now?"

"Justice must be done!"

"Justice!?" Bakura snarled bitterly. "You would have me murdered for executing those who murdered innocents of my village? Be it wittingly or unwittingly."

"I would have you executed for murdering the innocents." Atem corrected.

Bakura growled in frustration and jammed his elbow into his collar. "Execution is murder. Murder is execution. It is a double-edged blade. No matter the side you are on, there is another on the other. Tell me Pharaoh, are my actions so very different from yours? You execute those who do harm to your people, as I do so for mine. So surely we both seek justice."

He pushed his face closer to Atem's, and the Pharaoh could see something dimming Bakura's eyes. He took in every twitch and tremble of the thief's body, and he misinterpreted it as somewhere, beneath the rage and hurt, his old playmate existed still. "You are not thinking straight, my friend-" he paused abruptly. Bakura shook his head vigorously, as though there was water lodged deep in his ear canal.

"Oh, but I am. And I see right through your pathetic attempt of appeal to my better side."

Atem's face hardened again. "You have killed and killed again." he breathed, his voice dangerously low.

" How many have been killed for you to sit where you do? How many more will die for you to remain there?" Bakura snatched the pendent around Atem's neck and pushed it under his nose. "How many souls have been denied their rightful passage to the afterlife to make this gold? Answer me this Pharaoh!"

He fell quiet. Refusing to even look at the thief.

"I can still hear them. Still hear the death screams of every man, woman and child of Kul Elna. It haunts my dreams." He narrowed his eyes to slits and raised his sword over his head. "One more voice added to the choir won't make much of a difference."

Bakura tensed his grip on the hilt, ready to plunge it down into Atem, when he felt a blade slide against his throat. Without moving his head he rolled his eyes up, along the arm holding the sword to him, to the piercing blue eyes of Seto and held him with a cold stare.

"Drop your blade, or I shall lay you open where you stand."

Bakura ran the tip of his tongue over his teeth, smirked and taunted. "I could kill him as swiftly as you kill me. Care to risk it, Priest? Bare the fall of the dynasty on your shoulders?"

Seto paused and slid his gaze to Atem, pinned and helpless beneath Bakura. The warring emotions clear in his eyes. Protect his Pharaoh, or risk him? Slowly he lowered his weapon.

"Now, move away!"

The priest backed away cautiously, his face tight.

Swinging his head back around to focus on Atem, Bakura sneered down at him. "That's one loyal pup you have there, Pharaoh. Stupid. But loyal." He lifted his other hand to the hilt, gripping it in both hands now and stabbed down...

"PHARAOH!" Seto bellowed and tried to run. He couldn't move. His legs refused to work. But they had to, his Pharaoh needed him...

... Then he froze.

With a roar of agony, and the audible crack of a snapping bone, Atem had wrenched one hand from beneath Bakura's sandaled foot and gripped the hilt from underneath. Both tried to force it either into the Pharaoh or away from him.

Sweat quickly beaded on Atem's forehead and Bakura smirked, a deadly light winked in his eyes.

"I seem to recall you in a similar situation to this before. Only this time, I see no snake."

Atem grit his teeth and strained. It took all the strength he had to hold the blade away from his body. Pain raced from his still trapped hand, it had cracked loudly as he had tried to yank it free and now the agony churned in his belly and he had the uncomfortable feeling that he wanted to vomit. "I see a snake where I once saw a friend." he spat through his teeth.

"You don't trust me?" The words were whispered savagely.

Atem snarled and squinted as salt laced sweat stung his eyes. "No. I don't trust you!"

Murder burned in Bakura's eyes and with a shout he threw his weight onto the hilt. Atem's strength was spent and with only one arm holding the weapon away from him, he was easily over powered. His elbow buckled...

The air split with his cry. The blade, aimed to his chest but angled toward his belly, slipped easily through his skin behind his collarbone and buried half its length into his body. Triumph gleamed in Bakura's eyes. Then his smile faded and he cocked his head, the shaking fit returning. When it passed he held his head cocked, watching the blood soak the front of the white tunic and listening. He could hear the sound of thundering footsteps.

Twisting his upper body to the open door of the throne-room, Bakura narrowed his eyes.

Two more guards, a young girl; possibly a few years younger than himself. And a tall, dark haired man with eyes of a colder, lighter blue than those of Seto's, stormed the room with Siamun stumbling, bringing up the rear. He growled at this new intrusion, how could he have missed the old man slip off for help? Had he been that engrossed in the Pharaoh and Seto, that he deemed Siamun un-important? He flicked his head again, something was tugging at his mind, trying to coax him away from consciousness.

His hand tightened on the hilt, the blade sliding a fraction deeper into Atem's body, who groaned and fought to keep his eyes open through the pain.

The young girl below uttered a small cry and gripped her Master's wrist.

He ignored the girl clinging to him and slid his eyes to half mast, lips murmuring strange and foreign words.

"Enough Magus!" Bakura snarled in a voice that was dark and threatening. "One more word and I kill your precious Pharaoh." He slowly twisted the hilt, opening the blades path and the boy-Pharaoh howled over the sound of wet tearing sinew. Then he swung his head to face behind him to glare at the guards. "Tell your men to stand down!"

The Mage paused and waved the guards down.

The girl stared up at the Magus, her brow puckered in despair. "Master Mahado?" she whispered and tugged at his arm. "We must help Temmy."

Lord Mahado glanced down to the young girl, frowning, he had tried to dissuade her from calling Pharaoh by the childish pet name she had dubbed him with. "We can not do anything until he is away from Pharaoh." he murmured. "Else we risk Pharaoh being gutted."

Mana chewed her bottom lip, her mind churning. "What are we doing to make him release the Pharaoh?"

Mahado's frown deepened and he ignored he question rather than admitting he had no idea of what to do. He turned his focus back to the thief. "You face the death penalty."

Bakura blinked slowly, his eyes glazing slightly, blurring the figures behind him. Yet the vicious snarl remained firmly in place.

"Release the Pharaoh and your death will be swift. A cup of poisoned wine, perhaps the garrote string. Continue the path you are walking and you forfeit that privilege."

The thief snorted with bitter laughter. "Do you really think I fear death? If I did, would I have pushed this far?"

Mahado lowered his gaze to the floor, what could he do? Then he heard the soft chanting of an unfamiliar song. He turned to Seto, could he hear the song also? The younger priest glared at him... no, not at him. He glared at something just off to his side and mouthed 'Shut the girl up!'

Holding his head still but moving his eyes to Mana at his side.

Her lips were moving and her eyes were squeezed shut.

Then to his horror, he realized that she was the source of the song. Straining his ears to catch the words, he suddenly recognized the song as not a song at all, but a spell. Mana was casting.

The words stopped briefly before she launched into re-casting desperately.

The spell had failed.

Closing his eyes, Mahado reached to touch her shoulder and sighed heavily. She had failed. To cast the spell she chanted, one needed perfect tempo. It had to flow as music from her lips. True magic was pure music. Not what the minstrels played. Pure music flowed, as naturally as the Nile's waters, straight from ones very soul. That was what magic was.

Then he heard it. A strangulated gasp.

Lifting his eyes to Seto, he saw him staring back at him. A small smile tugged the Magus' lips, and together they raised their eyes to the throne. The gasp came again. Bakura had released the hilt from his grasp and clawed wildly at his throat. He was panicking. He gurgled again and it was now clear as to why he panicked. He couldn't breathe.

Lord Seto turned to a guard who stared in amazement. "Kashaar! String an arrow." He turned back to watch the wild thrashings of the thief as the guard obeyed, and one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk. "When you have a clear shot, strike the rabid jackal down!"

The bowstring thwanged. And the arrow hummed, rotating as it arced high into the air before taking Bakura high in his back, yet he made no sound as he slumped over Atem, his russet eyes dull and flat already.

There was an uproar as Lord Seto shouted orders and Siamun raced as best his old body could to the Pharaoh's side. The guards lifted the thief from their King and dropped him aside, ignoring him as he flopped as limp as a rag-doll, his eyes wide and unseeing. Mahado fell to his knees and grabbed Mana into his arms. Tears rolled from the corners of her tightly shut eyes. He heard the music of her spell still flowing, unbidden from her lips, and he smiled.

"Mana." he said gently and shook her. "Mana. That's enough now. It's over."

Her lips stumbled and the spell broke as a sobbing gasp burst from her lips and her lids flew open. She stared up at Mahado, "Master. I'm sorry. I just wanted to help Temmy."

Mahado frowned. "I should have you removed from my training for your deliberate disobedience. You put the Pharaoh in even greater peril..." he scolded ans Mana hung her head, "Your actions were rash. Dangerous. And... I'm glad you did it."

Mana had braced, ready for the harsh words she expected. When her Masters words finally sank in she realized he was praising her. Staring at him in befuddlement, he gestured for her to look.

"Dump that corpse outside the city walls for the scavengers to pick at." Lord Seto dismissed the guards gruffly and turned, spotting Mana. He nodded his head at her and strode over to Siamun who had lifted Atem from the throne and onto the floor, his ear pressed to his chest.

Mana stared at the body of the thief as it was dragged from the throne-room and suppressed a shudder. Then her thought's rushed to Atem. "Temmy." she breathed and darted toward the gathering around the injured Pharaoh.

"Lord Siamun," she cried and fell to her knees beside him. "Will Temmy be alright?"

The old man looked at her and smiled with his eyes, nodding once. "Yes." he said gently before catching Lord Seto's eye and turning back to the wounded boy on the ground. "Mana, fetch water from the kitchens and a clean tunic so I may attend to his injuries."

The girl nodded and after brushing a sweat-sodden bang from Atem's face, she stood an darted through the door. Siamun breathed heavily and awaited for the dreaded question from Seto.

"You lied to her."

Siamun turned to face Mahado instead, for he was the one to ask the question. The blue eyes gleamed and he spoke in hushed tones. "You would have me tell her the truth? Mahado, he may die still."

"How likely is that?" Seto asked and Siamun whipped his head around. He felt he was fending off attacks from all sides.

"If he survives tonight then our only concern is the third day. If mortification sets, then he is lost-"

"You do not need to whisper. I can hear you."

The three priests froze, staring at each other before lowering their eyes to Atem. His eyes, fever bright and half lidded, gazed from his darkened face.

He breathed slowly, dragging shallow and ragged breaths through his teeth. "I know I am sorely wounded. You need not to protect me." he paused and wet his lips with his tongue. "Now, can you take this sword from me before I lose my pleasure for a hunt. I feel as though I would be poor sport if I get myself stuck so easily."

It was a poor joke, yet even Seto smiled weakly. "It will hurt, Majesty."

"Opposed to the undeniable comfort I am currently in?"

Another poor attempt to joke. Siamun wordlessly gestured instructions and positioned Seto at Atem's side and Mahado at his head, ready to hold the boy down should he find the pain too much. The old man lifted his hands to the hilt and grasped it in both hands. "Lord Seto. The Rod."

The Rod? Atem's pain fogged mind failed to comprehend until he felt something forced between his teeth, pinning his tongue to prevent him biting it through when the pain became too much.

"Hold him."

Siamun twisted the blade slowly, back to the original angle of entry, doing his best to ignore the muffled, agonized cries from his patient. Slowly the sword began to yield and Pharaoh's whole body stiffened in distress.

Pausing, Siamun wiped his bloody hands on his robe, then gripped the hilt again...

&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&

Kashaar and his companion dragged the body to the city gates and tossed it away in disgust. The limp form crashed gracelessly to the sand and rolled over once. As the soldiers turned, Kashaar paused and frowned.

Had he seen that cloud of dust rise from the corpse' lips? He strode to the body and kicked it onto its back. The skin had cooled and become clammy. But, to be certain, he knelt beside it and held a hand before the lips for a moment...

... Nothing. It seemed pretty dead.

He shrugged and turned, deciding the dust cloud had been from the body rolling. Joining his fellow guard he strode back through the gates, discussing a dancing girl he intended to visit that evening.

A bent and haggard figure, dressed in a heavy cloak, scuttled from behind its boulder. Checking the guards had gone, it stooped at the body and rummaged through the robes, searching for gold or a purse or anything it could eat or sell. It's fingers, gnarled and knotted with flesh hanging from yellowing bandages, tore at the robe itself. Fingering the material.

Silk? Too good for a corpse.

Shedding its cloak, the leper tugged the robe over its rotting body...

... A rock clattered and rolled to its foot and it paused, staring blandly at it for a moment before continuing it's search.

Then it shrieked as a second and third rock struck its back and rear respectively. Throwing its stick thin arms over its head it scuttled away as swiftly as it could, as Rahemu chased it off, throwing rock after rock at the pitiful creature.

"Get off with you, vile parasite!" He hollered, pitching a final rock.

Only when the leper was out of sight did Rahemu fall to his knees beside Bakura, inspecting the arrow wound. It wasn't a fatal shot, but it would hurt like hell when the boy awoke, and would serve him right too. Stupid plan this. He pulled his little bronze dagger and held it before the boys lips, sure enough after a few minutes a barely noticeable exhale and the bade misted slightly. The deadening drought had worked.

Tilting the boy's head to the left, he reached his hand into his robe and pulled a pair of narrow, bronze forceps. He pushed them into the boys ear and removed a woolen plug. Then he pulled his water skin from his hip and filled his mouth with water, fishing a bronze tube out from his robe also, he entered that into the ear canal and flushed the water through. Mixed in the water, he could see the milky discoloration of the elixir of Anubis. He then snapped the arrow shaft, before opening a phial that smelled strongly of sulpher and camphor and administering it to the boy.

Bakura coughed and vomited up yellow bile that dribbled down his cheek to the sand.

Rahemu massaged the boy's back. "Of all the stupid ideas..." he growled, happy that Bakura was very much alive, even if he would be extremely unwell for the next few days. He yanked him to his feet, slung an arm over his own shoulder, jamming it into Bakura's armpit for support and began the long trek home.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Done. God that was a long one again. If you're wondering why Bakura kept shaking his head, he was trying to slow the elixir of Anubis' potency.

Read and Review?

Stay Smexy. xXx


	6. Inner Strength

**Authors Note:**

Right I have decided to dedicate this story to someone who has followed it and loyalty reviewed every chapter . So here's to you dragonlady222.

I never actually got to write this chappy and plan it properly, (I had it sitting in draft messages folder on my mobile eating all my memory) so I hope it works how I want it to. Also I think this shall be the final chapter.

P.s. The answer to the question on the last authors note shall be revealed in this chapter.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! Or its past, present nor future... I just like to screw with it for my own twisted pleasure... Mwah ha ha ha! (thank's for the pointers Bakura.)

**Of Kings And Thieves.**

**Chapter. 6: **

Bakura sat, cross-legged and high in the rocky and cavernous regions of the desert. His chin low to his chest and his eyes closed as he forced his defiant body to bend to his will.

He was still unwell with the after effects of the elixir of Anubis, barely eating and keeping the whole meal down, occasionally breaking into fever-sweats despite feeling fit and healthy. And then, of course, there was his arrow wound. His afflicted shoulder was still stiff and uncomfortable when he moved, and just two days earlier it had strained and burst its stitches, oozing thick yellow pus down his back.

As he had lain in his sickbed, Mahet had watched over him, feeding him and bathing him as she had done when he was small. All the while, scolding Rahemu for encouraging the boy and aiding him in his fool hardy plans. When Bakura had dreamed in his brief lulls from the sickness, he dreamed of a voice from deep inside his chest.

_**'Awaken, brother. Your time here is not done. Linger a little longer, brother. You have one more fight in you. Rise up and be the hand of God for your people.'**_

Finally, he sat in a state of heightened awareness. His finely tuned body, hardened rough play as a child and even rougher training as a young man, was more a cunning and deadly weapon than merely an earthly vessel to house his Ka .

He had deliberately chosen to sit in full view, to tempt the Sand Wanderers into attacking him.

His robe was of fine silks, brightly dyed in red and blue. He wore the golden anklets, rings and armlets that he had plundered from the tombs his ancestors had built. His horse, a strong and fine beast, black as night, stood just beside him with its bridle loosened for comfort. The horse alone would be as tempting a prize as any of his riches for the miserable creatures to snatch.

Sand Wanderers were cowardly wretches. Only attacking those who were un-armed and unaware. Thieves in their own right, but Bakura scoffed at the very notion, he regarded them as no more than dirt beneath his feet...

... A whistle.

He tilted his head as he caught the reply. An unpracticed whistle, poorly disguised as a song birds pretty voice; locating themselves and altering their positions, ready to spring the obvious trap.

Bakura concentrated harder. Screwing all of his hate and rage into a ball of darkness that threatened to crush his very being, coaxing it to swell into the great God Demon that had chosen him to bear its mighty strength. He could feel it feeding upon every dark emotion within him and it grew steadily larger and more powerful.

His horses ears flickered forward, catching the sounds of shifting sands underfoot. Then it snuffled at its master's sandal, almost a warning to him of the approaching danger.

Bakura made a low sound in the back of his throat and the beast settled once more. its nostrils flaring as it scented the Sand Wanderers on the approach.

Finally they broke their cover and surrounded him, swords and daggers drawn but held low, the sharp and fire hardened tips pointing down to the sand. One man, an ugly and brutish thing, his teeth blackened and broken, and a long twisted scar that reached from his left temple down to his collar and vanished beneath the neckline of his tunic, seized the horse roughly by its loose bridle.

Another man, probably the Chief of the clan, tilted Bakura's chin from his chest with the tip of his sword. Grunting in approval, his lips twisted into an unsettling smile.

"A boy," he cooed and inspected the bare flesh of Bakura's chest, scrutinizing every line and curve of his build. His smile grew wider. "A pretty boy."

He stared at the distinguishing scar on his cheek, then realized Bakura's eyes were still closed. "Why do you not open your eyes, my pretty one?"

Bakura ignored him, jaw clenched tightly, fighting to keep himself from throwing a snarl and baring his teeth in the direction of the man. The chief stabbed the blade into the sand and squatted, sliding a broad hand to cup the boys chin in a sensual but tight grip. His rough and callused thumb stroking lovingly over the scar and he spoke again in his sooth and cooing tone. "Such damage to a young and beautiful face."

Bakura's lashes fluttered, but the chief continued unaware. "Such delicate features..."

He turned as a shout cut through the air behind him.

"My Lord, do you not think you have enough pets back home? Would not your woman rage if you brought another back?"

"Let the woman do as she will, I have no more need of here. She has four whelps off me already, and for that she should be grateful. As for my pets..." he focused back on Bakura, staring with the hungry eyes of a buzzard. "None of my boys are as pretty as this one."

Laughter rumbled through the small group of vagabond's. The romantic preference of their chief when it came to bed-mates was common knowledge within the clan. Homosexuality and bisexuality was rife amongst Egypt. Many men, such as the chief, only took a bride to their beds simply to father children onto them and continue their blood-line.

A soft wind kicked up, swirling up tiny tornado clouds around Bakura's ankles, creeping higher up his legs as his rage grew. Feeding his spirit God.

The chief noticed the tiny winds and narrowed his eyes as he peered at them. When he lifted his gaze again he realized Bakura's eyes were open. Wide and bright. He breathed softly and suppressed a shudder of delight.

"Such eyes."

He shuddered again, his arousal thick in the air. "As beautiful as Pharaoh's rubies." he pulled the face closer and the boys eyes shuttered. "I am guessing your blood-line is half of the Tehenu people, blurred with that of the Egyptian people."

Bakura just sat there, almost slouching into his hand. The Sand Wanderer leaned closer and noticed a bead of sweat rolling down the boys temple. He frowned and pulled back sharply. Bakura's brow was scored with deep furrows, his jaw clenched in grim determination and concentration, and his flesh seemed to be writhing... pulsating.

"By Seth's hairy testicles!" the chief swore quietly. "What evil magic are you weaving boy!?"

As he backed away, the tiny stirrings in the sands had spawned into shrieking, howling winds. A terrified cry went up from the small band of Sand Wanderers

"Khamsin!" they shrieked. "He's calling a Khamsin! It will kill us all!"

The chief shielded his eyes with his arm from the sharp and stinging grains of sand, bellowing over the shouts of his men and the howling winds. "It will pass! Stay where you stand or I shall kill you myself!" he turned his attention back onto the boy.

Bakura's eyes had dulled and grown impossibly wide, a whole ring of white surrounded his iris's. Blood seeped from his nose from under the strain and something dark and evil leeched from his body. A great shimmering beast began to form from the darkness.

The Sand Wanderers stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed with fear as they watched the shadows harden into a shape...

Diabound threw it's head back and roared, announcing its presence, and the very air seemed to tremble. On his knees and panting, Bakura peered up at the God spirit from under his white bangs and trembled slightly, he himself, a little afraid of this spirit beast he had called forth.

Again, Diabound bellowed, this time in confusion. It had answered its master's call and yet the boy just sat there, stunned.

_'Brother...'_

Bakura jumped. Frantically searching for the source of the deep and seductive tenor resounding in his mind.

The chief took a tentative step backward, staring at the boy, certain the boy had turned quite mad, one eye on him and the other on the monster looming behind him.

_'Brother,'_ the voice called again and a wave of pleasant warmth wrapped around Bakura's very being, protecting him. _'Do not fear me. I have come, answering the cry of your wounded heart.'_

Bakura lifted his chin and stared up at Diabound directly, realization seeping into his face as it finally dawned that only he could hear the beast.

_'Yes, I am speaking with you. I, the mighty God Diabound, am housed within your Ba. My strength is your strength. Your will is my will.'_

The boy swallowed awkwardly. "Y-your strength..."

_'Yes. We are kindred spirits, you and I. Linked by the same desire to seek justice for the murder of your people. The murder of your mother. Your tattered life. We must not allow these crimes go unpunished. You are destined for great things, O' Devine Brother.'_

Bakura shivered. "Why do you address me, a humble thief, as Devine Brother, Great Lord?"

Diabound seemed pleased with Bakura's mannerisms toward it, showing a satisfactory level of respect, yet not cowering and groveling in its presence, and also not too defiant.

_'The Great Father, Osiris, has informed me that you shall be granted life eternal. 3,000 years from now, you shall still walk the earth.'_

Bakura inwardly squirmed like a delighted puppy... Life, eternal.

Diabound rumbled triumphantly, manipulating the boy had been more simple than expected. He would serve as the perfect vessel for the Dark Lord and his master.

Then a thud snapped both Bakura's and Diabound's attention back to the Sand Wanderer's. The chief had tripped and fallen in his haste to escape. As his clan raced to his aide, Diabound bellowed in outrage and dove into the sand.

They froze. Wide, fearful eyes scanned the sand dunes, trying to catch any sign as to where that terrifying beast might burst from.

They chief looked up at Bakura and scowled, "May Seth hack your body into a thousand pieces. May you forever be denied eternal rest." he spat the curse at the boy.

Bakura narrowed his eyes and sneered. The dried blood upon his upper lip cracked as he pulled them away from his teeth. "After you..." he hissed.

And then, the slaughter began.

Diabound burst from the dune beneath the feet of the clan in an upward torrent of sand and bodies. The men shrieked in gut wrenching fear, and Bakura tilted his head to the side, his eyes slitting, as he absorbed the full horror of the bloodshed. Letting the screams wash over him.

Bloodied limbs spiraled through the air, twitching long after they'd landed. Blood glinted like rubies in the sunlight, spraying the sand as bodies were ripped apart by savage talons. The head of the chief Sand Wanderer bounced and rolled to Bakura's feet, the mouth gaping and gasping like a fish out of water and the eyes rolling until only the whites showed.

Bakura reached down and, without so much as a repressed shudder of repulsion, he lifted the severed head to his eye level.

_'It is done, Brother.'_

Bakura dropped the head, uninterested now the twitching had ceased, and scanned to locate the terrible God beast. "Mighty Lord?"

_'I have returned to your Ka, Brother. I must rest. For you are still young, and the strain you experience when summoning me, taxes my strength also. You must strengthen your earthly bod to ease my summons and increase my strength.'_

Bakura moved toward his horse who stood, pawing the ground and snorting in distress. Bakura tightened the bridle, gave the animal a reassuring pat and a few soothing words, then swung himself up onto its back. Gathering up the reins, he coaxed the animal on-wards, pushing with his hips. Carefully, the animal picked its path through the bloodied sands and dismembered bodies. Bakura simply sat and allowed the animal to choose its own path, his mind fuzzy and he was aware of an unsettling and sickly notion, almost like he were being drawn from his body.

Eventually the horse's ears pricked forward as it recognized its surroundings. Rahemu lifted his head from the gazelle he was skinning and shielded his eyes from the burning sun. He spotted the animal emerging from the shimmering heat haze, then he dropped his peeling knife and waved. Instantly knowing who the rider would be.

"There you are boy." he smiled and caught the loose hanging reins. The horse brred softly and tossed its head. "Easy now." he soothed, patting the stallion once, Rahemu then turned his attention back to Bakura as he clumsily dismounted. "By the sour breath of Seth. You look as though you've witnessed your own death, lad."

Bakura glanced up from under hooded eyelids and didn't say a word. He just pushed past Rahemu and slowly headed toward the hut. He stiffened briefly, a slight feeling of unease in his gut was all he knew before something crashed upside his left ear. Whirling round and his wits regained, Bakura stared at Rahemu in disbelief. The man's hand was balled into a fist.

"What was that for?!" Bakura cried, his cheeks reddened as he rubbed where the blow had caught him.

"Where are your wits boy?" Rahemu demanded. "You cannot afford to walk around with your head up your own arse. If I had been armed, you would be lying dead on the floor by now."

He drew his arm back for a second swing, but this time, Bakura was ready.

As the arm ploughed toward him, he danced backward a step and dropped to his knees, ducking the attack and rolled his weight onto the ball of his feet, coiled and ready. Rahemu staggered off-balance, having put too much weight behind the blow and leaving his back vulnerable to the boy.

Without missing a beat, Bakura launched himself at the aging man, his bony shoulder drove into Rahemu's kidneys and he lifted his foot to stamp down on the back of his knee. Rahemu howled as his leg buckled beneath him and he crashed to the sand. Ice cold pain burning along his nerves.

Others in the village wandered from their homes to watch the skirmish. Bakura was well known amongst the younger generation of assassins as an odd child, tagging along on the outside of the groups of children, only to be violently driven off and beaten if caught. None of the other boys showed any interest in him before now, simply because he was not born an assassin like them.

But now their interest was obvious as he fought with his adoptive father and the shouts went up, goading the white haired creature on, baying for blood to be spilled. Their eyes gleaming in excitement and lust for violence that all Egyptians shared.

Bakura sat astride Rahemu's belly, his fingers wrapped around the mans throat, his eyes narrow and his bicep taunt. "Am I to kill you now?" his voice devoid of emotion and his grip threatening to crush the windpipe.

Rahemu shook his head, certain that the boy would kill him, if he had to. "That's enough, Bakura." he croaked.

Recognition flared behind the darkened eyes in the boys face. Responding to his name. Yet the grip tightened momentarily before it lifted.

He pushed himself to his feet and extended a hand out to the fallen man. Rahemu hesitated. "You are getting to be too old for this sort of thing, Rahemu."

The man laughed and took the boys hand to steady himself as he rose and ruffled the white mop, that never seemed to tame, as though he were still five years old. "And you are too willing to take risks. Too cocky. Thinking too much with your..."

"... my balls, and not enough with my head." Bakura mimicked and rolled his eyes. "You are not the first to tell me that."

Rahemu tested the strength in his buckled knee and winced. "Then perhaps, you should take heed of the warnings. Boldness is a valuable element in any man. If, in the right balance. Too much will get you killed."

Again Bakura rolled his eyes and hooked an arm around the mans waist. "You and Mahet worry too much about me. I'm quite capable of looking after myself, I proved that with my first attack on Pharaoh."

"All you have proved, is that you have more lives than a cat, nothing more. That arrow took you high in the shoulder, any lower and you would have been skewered." He fixed the boy with a stare that hurt. "I have had to bury one child already. Do not make me bury you alongside her."

He turned his russet eyes from the honey gold orbs, his lips twitching into a hard line. Sliding away from the only father he had ever known and stared at the ground between his feet. He knew of the pain both Rahemu and Mahet felt for the loss of Marishkaha, and how the grief had closed Mahet's womb so she could never again bear children. He knew, because he had often overheard Mahet thanking the Gods for delivering him to them, how much he meant to them. But he couldn't understand how they could love him as their own, how they could bear to watch him toy with death and not forbid him.

"There is something I must do. Somewhere I must go." he murmured and turned back, grabbing the reins and lifting himself onto his horse once more.

And all Rahemu could do was stand and watch as Bakura turned the horse in a sharp circle and spur the animal into a gallop away into the desert once again.

&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&-&&-&-&-&-&-&-&-

He sat upon the Tablet in silence, idly tracing the deep graves carved into the stone. He was always completely at ease here. Deep beneath the skeletal remains of Kul Elna.

The winds of a Khamsin howled above him on the surface, but down here, in the forbidden chamber, it was always quiet. Save for the whispers of the dead.

Khamsin's blew themselves out quickly, the storm would pass...

"You are restless tonight." he murmured, lips barely moving and his eyes closed.

The whispers curled around his body, comforting him. Becoming more audible as they moved closer, and he was able to distinguish one from another.

Wisps of gray drifted lazily through the darkened chambers coiling and rolling over him, themselves and each other. Clamoring for his attention, trying to make words but only succeeding with soft, shapeless noise.

"patience my friends." he soothed. Raising a hand for the wisps to investigate. "This hand has already spilled Royal blood. Come. Taste the first spoils of the war started twelve years back."

The gray phantasms jostled and swarmed the hand, tasting it despite it being bloodless, then continued on their aimless wanderings... Yet, a single wisp lingered. Twisting a path, much more intimately around his body. Swooping so low against his palm, it almost seemed to be stroking itself against his palm. It's whispers and noise, much more lilting as it sang to him.

"You are upset?"

He cocked his head as though listening to a voice rather than wordless noise, his brow creasing into a frown.

"Yes. You could taste my blood also, but you must have anticipated there be risks."

It curled his arm up to his shoulder, where his arrow wound was situated and nuzzled it tenderly. Still whispering.

He smiled.

"Hush now." he purred as the phantasm slid away and drifted with no destination to reach. "The plan is in motion. And now we wait." His rusted eyes followed as more phantasms drifted by, swallowing the one he had been watching into the mass, content in their aimless wanderings.

The Khamsin above finally blew itself out and the whispers faded into the darkness once more.

"And you shall finally be at peace... mother."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

YAY!!!!!!!! Done.

Reviews...?

Stay Smexy. xXx


End file.
